


Lost

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 06:02:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10870608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Kanafinwë regrets breaking house arrest.





	Lost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ephers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephers/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for ephers’s “41. “How can you still look so attractive while crying.” Eonwe/Maglor” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/) [from this list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/160417565360/prompt-list). (Titled after [Sunlounger ft. Zara – Lost](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=buQclf6SymA))
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Silmarillion or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He returns to his chambers late in the evening, after a long talk with Manwë that’s left him somewhat tired—a difficult feat, even in this Eldar-like form. Eönwë sweeps through his halls with his armour left at the door, and he passes each possibility for company along the way. Sometimes, Kanafinwë sits in his gardens, idly strumming a harp and singing wistfully, so Eönwë is sure to cross a veranda that will let him oversee them. They’re bare of anyone, so Eönwë sweeps on, over all three courtyards and down past the study, up again through the library, and finally down the corridor to his bedchambers. The door to Kanafinwë’s rooms is ajar, and they’re as empty as the rest of his estate. A smile graces Eönwë’s lips; that leaves only one place.

But when he reaches his own bedchambers, Kanafinwë is still nowhere to be found. Falling into a frown, Eönwë paces through them, checking the washroom and balcony, but he’s alone. It worries him, more for Kanafinwë’s sake than his. And then the door bursts open, and Kanafinwë scrambles in, shaking and frantic. 

Eönwë tenses instantly. He’s used to such _gentle_ company; once, Kanafinwë may have been a fierce warrior, but in Eönwë’s home, he’s been nothing but a gracious guest. He listens and hums and even smiles on occasion. He frowns frequently, but that’s nothing to _this_ ; Kanafinwë is a _mess_. Tears stream down his cheeks, and his chest beats with a sob that would make Nienna proud. He wears white, silk-satin robes loosely drawn about his waist, and his black hair falls freely about his shoulders, tangled with the wind. He rushes towards the bed, swiftly climbing on, and as Eönwë approaches, he can smell the sea on Kanafinwë’s skin.

Kanafinwë bows low. He sniffs, clearly trying to rein his trouble in, but it’s too late for that. He’s already broken his house arrest—he knows that he’s forbidden to leave. He was only allowed to return to Valinor at all for the promise of strict custody, and Eönwë knows how poorly it reflects on him that he wasn’t able to enforce that. He’s come to trust Kanafinwë too deeply. But his halls aren’t far from the shore, and a part of him, though saddened by it, isn’t surprise to find that Kanafinwë’s finally broken and wandered down.

It seems like the visit truly _broke_ him. Eönwë strolls around the bed to reach Kanafinwë’s side, where he can lay a hand on Kanafinwë’s shoulder. He means to be comforting. Kanafinwë rasps, “I am sorry. I am _so_ sorry.” His hand darts up to clutch at Eönwë’s wrist, and the grip is trembling. When he lifts his head, his brows are drawn together, eyes deep, and water clings at their ends. “I am sorry I am late, and that I... b-but I can still please you—” His other hand lifts to Eönwë’s robes, but Eönwë catches it and stills it. Kanafinwë looks all the more heartbroken by the action. He whispers, “ _Please._ ”

With a tired sigh, Eönwë slips onto the bed beside his ward. He releases Kanafinwë’s wrist to cup his cheek instead, where Eönwë can gently thumb away the tears. The slick rivers that stain his skin do nothing to lessen his beauty, though they make Eönwë’s chest clench where any mortal would have a heart. He murmurs, as much to himself as Kanafinwë, “How can you still look so handsome whilst you cry?” Kanafinwë releases a ragged breath. His eyes close, scrunched tight together.

He asks in clear hope, “You will not dispel me, then?”

“Of course not,” Eönwë instantly answers—the thought never even crossed his mind. “If anything, _I_ am the one that bears guilt. It pains me to find myself still so attracted to you despite your grief. I am sorry. It seems I cannot help myself.”

Kanafinwë chokes on a bitter laugh. He shakes his head, but not hard enough to dislodge Eönwë’s palm against his cheek. When his eyes open again, they’re full of such _relief_. He explains calmer, though his voice is still hoarse, “I do not cry for sorrow, but for fear that I would lose your favour.” Eönwë arches one brow, bemused, and Kanafinwë nervously licks his lips before finishing quietly, “I have defied you again, like I have always done, and I carry more guilt for it than I can bear. Worse, I do not know how I can be forgiven again, and I could not stand to be parted. ...I know the alternatives. But I do not want a pardon amongst a guard of my own people, nor even to see my family again amidst Mandos’ halls. I would not sail. I would not even stay aboard a ship, searching for what I have lost, when I could stay with you instead. I _want to stay with you._ I do. I just... this _pulls at me_ , sometimes, and I have not the strength to resist it.”

The words, though touching, fill Eönwë with his own kind of sorrow. He wishes, more than anything, that he could ease that pain, but even he doesn’t hold the power to negate a Silmaril. All he can do is offer Kanafinwë respite in the in-between. If Eönwë were to report this, he would likely be unable to render even that; the Valar have pardoned Kanafinwë enough. They would banish him again, and Eönwë can bear to be parted as little as Kanafinwë. Eönwë doesn’t know what to say, so he only leans closer and brushes his lips along his lover’s, expressing without words how unwilling he would ever be to send Kanafinwë away. Kanafinwë kisses tentatively back, in the lilting, hesitant sort of way he first did when he presented himself to the council as a concubine. But then the kisses deepens, Kanafinwë pressing into him first, and it quickly seers into the sort of fire Kanafinwë’s always had. Eönwë’s made it clear that he only wants a _partner_. Kanafinwë meets him for it, clinging to him and pulling him in, until Kanafinwë needs to pull away again because he’s made himself breathless.

Eönwë takes the opportunity to promise, “I am not mad.” Kanafinwë smiles brokenly, though he must’ve known that Eönwë has been angered only a few times in his life, and never by his songbird. He thumbs the remaining tears away and murmurs, “I understand. And I think you have suffered enough, so I will allow you this, so long as you always promise to return from the shores to me, so that I may soothe away the loss you find there.”

Kanafinwë laughs, pure and sweet, as melodic as his music. He lunges forward then, lifting up on his knees to encase Eönwë completely; he clings to Eönwë in a tight embrace as though unwilling to ever let go. Eönwë holds him back. It’s wholly fulfilling in a way that overshadows everything else Eönwë’s ever known. Kanafinwë is his star, his greatest treasure. He rubs Kanafinwë’s back and pets through Kanafinwë’s hair and whispers into Kanafinwë’s ear, “I could never give you up. And not just for your beauty and your songs, but for who you are, and what you are to me. _Never_ fear that.”

Kanafinwë shudders against him. And by the time Kanafinwë’s pulled away again, his tears are gone. He kisses Eönwë with full happiness and pulls him to the mattress, where their bond ripples farther than the sea.


End file.
